


The Queen's Work

by geniusincombatboots



Series: Guardians [4]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble for a longtime friend brings Sybil and Evelyn to seventeen century Paris where all is not well in the Queen's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Royal Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is going to be based mostly on the BBC show, but with touches of both the books, but also a little of the people that inspired them. This is continued from my other stories. Feedback as always is appreciated.

Chapter One

_Spain, 1615_

_Sybilla Pseuthios hurried down the hall toward the young princess’s rooms, the satin of her skirts a fist of excitement, her pale olive, golden cheeks flushed with the excursion of running, her thick black curly hair flying behind her “Princess! Princess!”_

_Ana Maria’s golden head popped up from her book, a smile lighting her young face. The Princess Ana Maria was younger than Sybilla, being fifteen, almost sixteen. Ana Maria’s tutor, the Comte du Rochefort gave Calliope a disdainful look for the interruption, but moved as the Princess stood._

_“That will be all,” she dismissed him, and excitedly took her friend’s hands, “What has you so excited?” The Spanish Princess spoke French gently as if afraid of making a mistake._

_“I am to be married!”_

_Ana Maria’s smile faltered for a moment, but went on, “That is so wonderful!” she squeezed her dearest friends hands, “Who is it?”_

_“No title, but a wealthy merchant, like my father was before his appointment,” Sybilla said, speaking of her father’s place as the ambassador from the Ottoman Empire to the Spanish Court, “He is meant to be handsome and quite passionate,” she giggled and Ana Maria smiled. She liked her scandalous friend, who was scandal in word mostly, and rarely in deed as far as anyone could really prove, not that proof was really all that important in these sorts of cases._

_“Will you be married to him in person?” Ana Maria asked, looking out through the leaded glass of the window absently._

_They were both aware that in many royal marriages there was a de facto wedding. Maria Ana would likely say her actual wedding vows to her brother, and Louis, her fiancée, to his sister. The girls would then be swapped. The idea sounded ludicrous to Sybilla, but to Ana Maria, it was upsetting._

_“I assume so,” Sybilla walked with the younger girl to sit by the window, “My mother wants me home for the wedding.”_

_“When?”_

_“She grants me another month here, but my husband in apparently eager for me,” Sybilla looked proud as if she believed in her youthful wisdom that her husband would come to love her.as_

_Ana Maria nodded, squeezing her friend’s hand again, speaking in Spanish, “It was my hope that you might not marry and come with me to France. Your French is better than mine is, anyhow,” she said quietly, “And that you might find a husband there.”_

_“I will of course come to visit with you! And we will write to each other always!” She said, “We have a whole month left, little Ana Maria. What do you say we go riding tomorrow?” Sybilla smiled at the younger, “We can have a luncheon, en plein aire. Enjoy the last days of spring before it gets too hot.”_

_“That would be wonderful.”_

_Back in her rooms, Sybilla turned to see that the room wasn’t empty. Her mentor, Evelyn and Gabriel, the dark agent that acted as her father stood there a stern look on her face. Immediately the façade fell away and her Greek accent dropped with it._

_“You scared the shit out of me!” Sybil pressed a hand to her chest, “Golly.”_

_“Did she believe you?” Evelyn asked._

_“Of course, she always does,” Sybil said barely hiding her offense, kicked her shoes off by the door, “I still don’t see what their interest is in her. There are more interesting Queens.”_

_“It is not your concern.”_

_Sybil rolled her eyes and dropped into a chair. In a month she would leave the warmth of Spain for whatever, likely dreadful, place they wanted her next. “I will be able to write to Anne when she’s queen, won’t I?”_

_“It is crucial that you do.”_

xoxox

France was even more opulent than Sybil thought to imagine. It was the type of thing you might only see in a movie. The young woman peered out at all of it through the thin mesh of the black lace veil that hung over her face. The glowing face of the woman that she had met once years before, had become golden with happiness that was clearly gilded on, in that it was quickly applied, and looked earnest, but a keen eye would notice its fraudulence.

“Lady Sybilla,” Anne of Austria called, reaching out a hand to pull her back up from a curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” the young widow said with a smile, looking at Anne, pulling the black veil back up and away from her face. “Thank you so much for allowing me to visit with you!”

Anne squeezed her hands, “May I present to your Majesty,” she said to her husband over her shoulder, “The Lady Sybilla Pseuthios.”

Sybil dropped into a lower curtsy, more formal and stiff in her movements. Mentally, she remembered the very specific steps; forward slightly, then back, right foot out, bow and spread skirt slightly, “Your Majesty.”

“Charmed,” King Louis said, less than enthused. He was bored and clearly did not want to be here at all.

Anne pulled Sybilla’s gloved hand into the crook of her arm, walking along the gallery with her into a separate room laid out with a luncheon.

“You have a lovely home,” Sybilla commented, sitting by the Queen’s side, slowly peeling her black silk gloves from her golden hands, and dropped them into her lap, “How far do the grounds extend?”

Anne looked at her with a smile that told her she didn’t for a moment believe her interest in the gardens surrounding the Louvre Palace. Anne glanced sidelong at her husband, trying not to ask about why Sybilla was using her maiden name, or why she had written to come to France. There was a strange shadow over her friend’s face, but she couldn’t ask what had happened here in so public a place.

Her question had however intrigued Louis who was off on a tangent about his extensive hunting grounds, and his skill as a falconer and Sybilla did her best to look impressed.

“It must be difficult to find assistants for your aerie,” she said, “I have heard it remarked that it is a trained skill that is losing numbers. Do you train your own birds entirely?” Sybil lifted a small slice of meat to her lips with a silver fork.

“Yes, one of my breeders just gave birth to a lovely little hatchling.”

“Does it inspire more devotion in a hunter to be so closely watched and reared by your Majesty?”

Anne smirked to herself at the lunacy of it before Sybilla’s foot bumped hers under the table as if begging her not to give the game away.

“Does her Majesty still ride? I imagine the grounds and woodlands would be lovely,” Sybilla looked at Anne with a smirk that wasn’t malicious, but rather seemed to hide some secret joke, “I have not ridden in so long. I miss it.”

“Not as much as I wish,” Anne admitted.

“Then we must fix that!” Sybilla said, eagerly, before regaining her composure, “With your Majesties’ permission of course.”

“Cardinal,” Louis called absently, to the First Minister at his side, a reptilian old man, “The lady is right. Organize a hunt for us. Later this week, I think.”

Sybil smiled, and turning back to her plate. She sipped from a glass of wine, scanning the surrounding faces. Anne’s failure thus far to sire an heir was not surprising. Her husband left much to be desired. She was already working out how to fix this. The easiest answer was usually the most efficient, if not the most effective.

“Do you want to walk in the gardens for a little?” Anne asked, as they rose from the table, “The spring buds are not quite out yet, but you liked gardens, even without flowers as I remember.”

Sybil bit back a laugh, but nodded, “Yes of course, your grace. We have much to catch up on,” she pulled her gloves on smoothly before dropping in another curtsy to Cardinal Richelieu and King Louis. She let a cloak be draped over her shoulders against the cold.

xoxox

“What happened?” Anne asked, walking close to Sybil and speaking in a low tone, “Are you in some sort of danger?” Her pale gold cloak was lined with what looked like rabbit fur. Sybil envied her such a warm garment. If this worked, she would have to find a way to get her hands on some luxury items to make this work.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder at the two musketeers walking far enough behind them to not hear her if she spoke softly. From the quick glance she sent them, she decided they were both handsome, in different ways. She pressed closer to the Queen, “My husband’s family thinks I killed him,” she said quietly in Spanish.

Anne bit hard into a gasp to quiet it. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if Sybil had some bizarre story, but murder, she would never have thought of that. She didn’t want to ask if she had done it, even as she wanted to know, “Why do they think that?”

“He was a drunk and a cruel man,” she went on, “we were not exactly happily married,” she said quietly.

“No, but-”

“He was drunk, as he usually was and he stumbled down the stairs, harder than usual,” it cut the question short, and any other questions while there were other people around.

Anne looked at her friend and for a moment realized how many years had passed. She could see them weighing on her shoulders along with the black silk of her mourning clothes, which were cut in a style a few years out of fashion.

She gave a look over her shoulder to make it clearer if such was needed. Anne looked back at the two men, one black, one white, and pulled Sybil to sit on a stone bench, close by her. Anne’s delicate hand gripped hers, “Was he unkind to you as you wrote? I always thought that he might have been far worse than you wrote.”

“What made you think that?” Sybil asked, smiling the way a teacher smiled when a student was about to say something brilliant.

“You have always had quite a good sense of understatement.”

Sybil laughed, “Then you know the answer to your own question, don’t you?”

Anne tilted her head, her pretty young face contorted with concern.

“Anyhow, it’s over now,” she looked at Anne, “Your trouble might be more pressing than mine.”

Anne’s face flushed at the mention of her problem and that Sybil would address it so directly. Not that she was certain there was a problem, but there should have been another pregnancy by now, “I just…” she stood up, forcing Sybil to do the same and walk on.

“It probably isn’t your fault.”

“That isn’t how Louis sees it.”

“I’m certain he thinks he has a large prick as well,” Sybil said close to Anne’s ear in case anyone else could hear and understand Spanish.

The queen swatted her friend’s arm impulsively, and she laughed, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“No? Tell me I’m wrong then,” Sybil teased, “Tell me, what is it like to polish the Crown Jewels.”

Anne laughed, but changed the topic with a small cough, looking around for something, and settled on the foliage. “These elms are starting to leaf. These walks are simply divine…”

Sybil glanced at the guards standing off a way from them. They were roguish as well as handsome. They looked like the type of men that went into soldiering or piracy. She decided that he liked the taller of the two more but that Anne would like the other. She walked slower as Anne spoke on, and she walked slower as Sybil did, not noticing at all.

The shorter of the two wasn’t short in the grand scheme of things. He was more of what one would traditionally think of as a Musketeer, looking like the romanticized ideal of an illustration of a swashbuckler from a children’s storybook. He stood a head and a half at least taller that Sybil, with light olive skin and well groomed facial hair. There was a small scar on his forehead, but it wasn’t as apparent as the one his companion bore. He was also clearly aware of the handsomeness of his features and there was something in the look that he gave as he touched the brim of his hat lightly, that she recognized. Then she realized that she had given that very same look countless times.

The taller looked somewhat annoyed with his friend, presuming that they were friends, and what was clearly a usual shenanigan. He looked rougher than the other, with the thin dark mark of a scar cutting through his right eyebrow down over his eye, but the eye was still keen from what she could tell at the shortening distance between them. There was a gold ring through one of his ears, which made Sybil smile, though she wasn’t sure why. His features were well set, soft and broad and his complexion was dark. She smiled at him, and he smiled politely back. His eyes had a sort of kind warmth that made Sybil think that she might be able to find a use for him.

“Sybilla?” Anne said gently, giving her arm a squeeze.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Sybil bowed her head gently.

Anne’s eyes rolled minutely, “Dear me, I doubt that’s necessary with no one else around.”

“Is it all so terrible?” Looking at them, then back to Anne, Sybil jerked her head at them, “Though not so terrible if all your guards look like that.”

Anne pursed her lips and shook her head at her, “You haven’t changed then.”

“Of course not,” She turned her head back, “Which do you like more?”

Anne shook her head again, “We are not having this conversation.”

“I like the taller one,” she pressed on, ignoring Anne’s complaint, “Do you know his name.”

“Porthos,” she said, grinning through a low laugh, “The other is called Aramis.”

“I think, Aramis for you, and Porthos for me, and no one would be the wiser.”

“No,” Anne laughed, “I am married.”

Sybil tilted her head out, pulling the hood of her cloak down and gestured to catch their eye. Her fingers twitched in a wave that some might consider flirty.

“What are you doing?”

“Obtaining company,” Sybil said as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“I really don’t think-“ Anne stated, and then stopped as the Musketeers approached and bowed.

“Is there something we can do for Your Majesty? Your Ladyship?” Aramis asked.

 _Ladyship_ , Sybil thought, _I will have to get used to that_. Anne smiled to the two men, and Sybil saw something in the young Queen’s eyes and patted herself on the back.

“Could you gentlemen be dears, and settle a debate we two are having?” Sybil asked, smiling as she got the best view of them yet, “The Queen is of course a loyal and devout daughter of the Catholic Church, however while I do not fully back the Huguenots I think that Religion must change if it is to survive.”

Aramis smiled as if he thought her a simple student, “Are you Catholic?”

Sybil hesitated, trying to find a way to answer the question while also bringing the point back to what she needed it to be.

“Lady Sybilla believes that the Church is corrupt and outdated,” Anne was walking again, and the other three followed.

“Your first minister is a Cardinal,” Sybil said as if that proved a point, “His loyalty may first be to France, but…” she left the words hanging, “And I think that religion like all other things must change with time.”

“I can see where you think that.”

“I am wrong then?” she asked, knowing for a fact that she wasn’t.

“Of course not,” he said, dismissingly, “No, while the Huguenots are fanatics and based in a flawed idea of human supremacy in the realm of spirituality, there certainly are people that use faith for power.”

“As is the trouble in England,” Anne said.

Aramis smiled wryly.

Sybil turned her head to look up at the tall Porthos with the sweetest smile she could muster, “What do you think?”

Porthos shrugged, his voice was low and thick and rolled out like thunder, “Aramis studied to be an Abbe. He knows more of these things than I do.”

He was a loyal friend that he would try to make his friend look better, Sybil thought.

“So you have no thoughts at all? Pity.”

Porthos frowned, “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, I was just saying to Her Majesty the Queen that you have such beautifully intelligent eyes,” she said, her brow furrowing as she slipped her hand to the crook of his arm, “I do hope I was not mistaken.”

Sybil could practically feel Anne’s annoyed amusement at her in the small shake of her head. Porthos smiled as if he had used that line before and never in his life imagined someone would try it on him.

“What?” Sybil asked Anne.

Anne didn’t answer.

“Do you think I am being too forward?” she asked Porthos.

“Far be it for me to complain,” he replied with a smile.

Sybil bumped Anne’s hip lightly with hers, “See?”

“If there is a scandal I will not stand by it,” Anne said teasing her regally.

“I am certain my very presence is already a scandal.”

Anne looked at her shocked.

“The Queen of France having a Lady-in-Waiting that isn’t French? My god, I can hear the gossips already. I might as well give them something substantial to talk about.”

Anne shook her head, trying to regain control over her friend and the situation that had spun out of control so quickly, “Would you gentlemen excuse us? It’s colder out than I thought. It might be best for us to retire inside.”

The Queen bobbed in a quick curtsy that Sybil mirrored, letting go of Porthos’ arm, but shooting him another quick smile.

“Sybil, it’s your first day here.”

Something in her voice quirked Sybil’s attention, “Ana Maria, I’m sorry. I was only playing,” she said as soon as they were out of hearing and sight of anyone as far as she could hear. She reached out to take Anne’s hand in hers, “Is everything alright?”

Anne looked genuinely exhausted for a moment, and taking off one of her gloves was all Sybil could do not to hug her.

She held her bare hand out to her friend, “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

The Queen smiled and squeezed her hand for a moment before releasing it and walking back to the palace.


	2. Into the City

Chapter Two

Sybilla walked through the apartments she had been let by the grace of their Royal Majesties Louis and Anne had let her keep as her own. She unpinned the black lace veil from her hair and folded it over against her skirt.

“You should pick up some French while you’re here. It doesn’t really do for you not to speak the language,” Sybil said, laying back on the bed, her arms stretched over her head. She turned her face to look at Evelyn. She wore a cap over her short hair, and for the first time in Sybil’s memory she wore a dress. It was plain but fine, something a lady’s maid would wear. That’s what she would be while they were here. Sybil rolled onto her stomach, her legs bending at the knee. Her stockinged feet swung back and forth as she flipped through the papers in front of her. Evelyn directed the maids to leave Sybil alone and closed the door behind her, closing them off from eavesdroppers, and thus from Sybil’s ability to speak down to her.

Evelyn leaned in the doorway, her shoulder against the wood, “What do you think?”

“The view is nice,” she smiled, looking through the glass. Her fingers stroked over the damask bedspread that was gold and blue. The curtains hanging around the bed were likely worth more than she was. “Is this a feather bed?” she asked, sitting back on the bed.

“The maids are still unpacking your effects,” Evelyn said, “How do you find her majesty?”

“Disillusioned, actually,” Sybil, “I think we can pull it off. I need files on all possible candidates, as well as anyone that might be on her security. Need to match faces to names to compile data,” she said, almost bored.

“I’ll take some photos. All we have to work on right now are old engraving type images,” Evelyn said, “They aren’t very useful.” She stretched an arm up, trying to get comfortable in her corset. Her fingers moved with frustration against the tight garment, her nails scratching against the material.

“I should make contact with the Romani, they’ve always been useful, and far as I know they still have a foothold in the Court of Miracles. I’ll go and make contact.”

“Alone?” Evelyn looked up at that.

“I’ve had better luck with that lot than you have.”

Evelyn tried not to let her brow furrow at her apprentice’s words. Glancing over at Sybil, she caught a glance of her stockings swaying back and forth slowly. There was something base and common about her once she let that mask off. Sybil played her part well, but she was still nothing more than a common beggar out of the gutter. “How do you intend to get an audience with the King there”

“By asking nicely,” Sybil rolled onto her back, one of her arms crossed behind her head, “You would be amazed by what that might get you.”

Xoxox

Point of fact, Sybil’s plan was just short of asking nicely. Tucked in a leather rucksack under her bed was a worn set of homespun clothing. She walked the city at night with the sack over her shoulder and her dark hair flowing loose over her shoulders. She roamed through the streets and their taverns, getting a feel for the city’s newer layout. It had been such a long time since she had last been in Paris and it was an entirely different place, but there were some things that would never really change.

She needed to know where different groups mingled together and have some sort of understanding before she could even step foot in the Court of Miracles to announce herself. She regretted that Evelyn had not seen it fit to let Sybil come sooner and set herself up in the Court. She claimed there would be too much of a risk if she were to be recognized before her official arrival, ignoring all together what would happen if she were to be recognized after.

The king in the Court was a small man with black skin and suspicious eyes. She had waited patiently in the ragged alley outside for her audience with him. She bowed her head, “Sir, I wanted to beg a moment of your time to make myself known to you.”

He looked, not quite bored, simply as if this formality was of no real importance, “Yes. Why?”

She extracted the worn folded piece of leather from her bag and held it out to him, “My family was given safe conduct through the Court of Miracles almost two hundred years ago by the King Clopin. I wish to be sure his word is still good. I am traveling through and I may need a place to hide.”

He took the document wallet from her hand and she watched his eyes to see if he was reading and he was. She could send him messages if she needed him as an ally. Charon, the King passed the documents back to her. “Cause us no trouble and we will make no trouble for you. Anything you steal or earn, you pay ten percent value over in taxes to me.”

She nodded, “Yes sir.”

He dismissed her, waving his hand, and she was glad he had not asked why she had a document so old still in her possession. She bowed, leaving. It was a formality, but it had to be done, whether Evelyn thought so or not.

The night from there was a blurry affair. Sybil went to a small public house, a dingy dirty place, but she was used to this sort of place.

There were a few girls lounging in a booth and with a drink in her hand, Sybil went over to the group and introduced herself. “Do you mind if I sit over here? There’s some strange man that won’t leave me alone.”

The three dark heads all swiveled immediately, and said almost in all one voice, “Of course.”

Sybil slipped into the booth with them, “Thanks.”

“You should not be out alone,” says the one by her side.

Sybil laughed in a way that was self-deprecating, “I would agree but I’ve only just now come to town.”

“Nadia,” says the one beside her, offering her hand to shake, “this is my sister, Elophia.”

They are pretty girls with darker coloring that Sybil’s. She accepts their hands, “Billie,” she introduced herself.

“What brings you to Paris?” Elophia asked, watching her in a way that Sybil assumed was meant to make her feel nervous

“I’ve never been here before. I heard it was nice so,” she shrugged a little, “My family lived in the court a while ago.”

“And you came back?” Nadia asked, laughing.

“Could be worse.”

“Could be married,” Nadia joked.

Elophia looked incised by this, “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Depends on the husband,” Sybil said, “Some aren’t too bad.”

“You aren’t married, then?” Nadia asked.

“I was once, but it isn’t for everyone.”

“You aren’t Roma,” it was a statement, though there was a question in it, just not the one she was asking aloud.

“No. I’m Greek,” she’d been letting the lilt fall off her tongue.

“A long way from home.”

Elophia swatted at her sister’s arm, “leave off her now.”

“Women don’t usually travel alone,” Nadia went on.

“I just wanted to be free,” Billie said truthfully, and drained her tankard, “Do either of you want another drink.”

Without the polite questions of “are you sure” or a “you don’t have to”, both girls pushed their own tankards to her.

Sybil smiled, “Alright then.”

The night passed in an odd haziness that fell over everything with drink. Loosening under the drink, Sybil remembered singing with the girls and dancing. She remembered staggering through the streets with them, arm and arm, singing at the top of their lungs. They were a giddy giggly mess. They were nice girls. Elophia was married to a man her sister hated, though neither would say why this was. Nadia was working at the dying house by the river, which left her hands chafed and colored vibrant blues and reds. They were kind but hard worn by life. Sybil deposited the two of them of at their homes and stumbled back to the palace, only getting lost a few times.


	3. The Hangover

When Sybil woke up her head pounded with the hangover that poured over her with the sunlight. She pulled the bed curtains back shut and the coverlet over her head groaning. She needed water, and aspirin and a cup of coffee, and she couldn’t remember if she could get her hands on any coffee.

Evelyn yanked the curtains open, “Rise and shine, darling.” There was little tenderness in the voice, but there was a hot cup of coffee in Evelyn’s hand, “Sit up and drink your coffee. There’s also a full spread of breakfast out in the other room. Do you want help with dressing?”

Sybil rolled on to her stomach and slumped out of bed. Her black nightgown and pulled on a black over robe. She liked playing widows. She liked black. She’d always liked wearing black, as long as she could remember. She liked the mysterious elegance of it and that then everything matched.

She watched Evelyn, sipping the bitter, black coffee and tried not to wince. It needed sugar, but she was glad to have coffee at all.

Evelyn stood there, an almost disapproving look on her stone features, which were marred by an odd black veil. It took Sybil a moment to recognize it as one of the mourning veils that had been packed for her. Black-lensed glasses hid Evelyn’s eyes and Sybil looked at her confused. It should have occurred to her, but now she realized that she rarely saw her mentor during the hours of daylight. It was an odd thought.

“What?” Evelyn asked, staring her down, or Sybil assumed she was.

“Are you photosensitive?” Sybil asked.

“What?”

“I mean… the veil….”

Evelyn nodded, “Yes. I am.”

That clearly wasn’t the full story, but there was something in her face that told Sybil that this was not the whole answer, but it was the only one she was going to get.

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Try to wake earlier in the future. There is much to do, and I can not be expected to do your work for you,” Evelyn turned on her heel and went back to the small servant’s room that was more an alcove closet than anything else.

Sybil got out of bed and looked at the small breakfast that had been laid out for her.

There was a chance that she would get along fine here, even as she stood out among the pastel dresses of the court women. It was the time before the world turned bleak with colorless suits and dresses, and Sybil wondered if she was part of some great spiritual conspiracy to rob the world of color. She thought this of course while deeply in love with her black wardrobe.

She pushed a French window open and rested her hip against the window frame, and looked out at the green, lighting a cigarette. The lace curtains would smell of the smoke, but she could deal with that later, and anyway they could hide her from the courtiers walking the paths in the sunlight. They were interesting as they moved in their circles, like herds of bison. They didn’t necessarily know what drew them to their friends usually. They moved in their little circles, ignoring the puppet strings that pulled them along.

She was being morbid. She held her cigarette between her lips and flipped through the envelopes. It was a few letters from friends and a few new pieces of junk mail, but not what she was looking for. She frowned at her disappointment, not sure why she was so. She was hoping for a letter from the man she had left behind for this assignment. He hadn't written her once, but then, she hadn't written him either.

She looked out through the window, through the lace at the people congregating in the gardens. There were women milling through the topiaries in the bright light, and Sybil wondered if sunglasses had been properly invented yet. The sun did not help her headache.

The Bureau of Supernatural Investigation and Defense, the program that employed Sybilla and Evelyn was founded with the intent of filling it’s name, and from what she could tell there was nothing supernatural in the French Court that required their attention, but she was so rarely told anything that would help her understand their jobs.

She had been put to work on the French Queen when she was still a Spanish princess. While Sybil was no longer an apprentice, she was still not a full agent, and thus not privy to any files not deemed necessary. She had, all things considered become a junior agent rather slowly, though it had taken some time to find someone to mentor her at all.

There was a gentle knock at her door. Sybil’s heart clenched in panic, and she stumped her cigarette out and tossed it from the window. She bolted to her bed grabbing a damp cloth from the washbasin before calling out.

“Yes?”

A chambermaid entered with a bow, “Her Majesty the Queen is here, and wishes to see you.”

Sybil tried her best to look pitiful, putting the rag back over her eyes as if she had been resting. She turned her pitiful eyes to the Queen, sitting up as if to bow, “Your Majesty.”

“You are unwell?” Anne asked, seeing the green under Sybil’s eyes.

“Just a headache,” Sybil leaned back on the pillows.

Anne came to sit at the edge of the bed, sniffing a little. A smile tugged at her lips, “Oh? And where did you get that?”

Sybil smiled, “It was so much easier when we were younger. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m simply becoming that old,” She turned on her side to look at Anne.

The Queen’s pale fingers stroked Sybil’s hair, her smile amused, “You’ve already snuck out of the palace?”

“You know me, Anne.”

Anne’s smile was that of an indulgent mother, “That I do.”

“I will not bring dishonor on you, I swear,” Sybil said in a wavering voice, “No one will ever recognize me anyway. I’m a foreigner with no title.” There was an idea there that she could use later. She smiled wanely.

“I would appreciate that, though I’m certain that there will always be those that speak against me, even if we were to be perfect.”

“Is it really so terrible here?”

Anne lay down next to Sybil, holding her hand up over her face to look at her wedding ring. It was a large sapphire set in gold, “There is little security in royal marriages without an heir.”

Anne had been pregnant once before, resulting in a miscarriage. It wasn’t uncommon in royal marriages of this era. There were genetic issues that were supposed to be the cause of it, but the complete unhappiness of the couple didn’t leave much room for error.

“Is the King likely to do anything?”

Anne laid the hand against stomach, “Who can say.”

Perhaps the mission was to ensure the correct flow of history. Now and then, she had such missions. That was the issue with time travel; sometimes a few small actions affected things. She was a janitor then, and little more. She needed to be sure that Louis XIV would be born, though she couldn’t understand why the Bureau had tagged her for this. Evelyn was always saying that it wasn’t for them to question. It was of course easy for her to say that, when she was the one that saw the files.


	4. The Escape

The tavern was louder than you would think a baroque pub would be. There was music and shouting and singing, and Sybil actually felt very comfortable in the middle of the din. It was the same as every dive bar she had ever been in. This was her world.

She dressed how she wanted, a loose pair of trousers and a loose grey shirt tucked into it and a wide black belt under a black leather jacket. She spoke with anyone she wanted to, but she wasn’t held to any one person. She was as free as she had ever felt in her life, even as she sat at a table, conducting business for the Queen of France.

The Englishman would have stuck out in the crowd if there was proper lighting, or if it wasn’t this late. No one in the tavern at this hour would care if he was a nobleman or a servant. The man had walked slowly toward the table, only certain once he recognized her, “Ms. Marlow?”

“Mr. Ripon,” Sybil smiled, “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you,” he sat very upright. He was nervous.

“Relax,” She pushed her flagon towards him, “It’s a tavern. It would look suspicious.”

He frowned harder, and took an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to her, “My lord does not require a reply.” He stood and left with all the directness of an introvert in a social situation.

Sybil slid the letter into the secure pocket of the breast of her jacket, and drained her tankard down. She stood up and went over to her friends and let go.

Her head spun with alcohol and the dizziness of dancing. This was dangerous, and she knew it. What would happen if someone took it into their minds to hurt her? She’d have to kill them, then what? But she couldn’t think like that. It was likely that court was dangerous as anywhere.

She danced with some of the Roma people, men and women pressed into a small section at the back of the tavern when the table was kicked over and a shot fired up at the ceiling. Everything stopped.

She froze, trying to see around a Romani named Raoul, but to little avail. The sounds of impending duel reached her ears however. There was a musketeer of dour disposition and long of face sitting far from any sort of merriment. She had noticed him earlier but only because he had been drinking brandy of all things, and she was surprised that he seemed able to afford so much of it.

“You have insulted the honor of the red guard for the last time,” said the man with the gun. He was really more of a boy, younger than Sybil. Judging by his new boots, and the shine on his uniform, he was new. She wondered if he wanted to shoot the musketeer or if he had simply wanted the appreciation of his friends.

She edged the crowd, pulling the brim of her hat down over her eyes and trying to place her face. He had been at the palace before, and she had seen him. He was a friend of Porthos and Aramis. His name escaped her. Standing behind someone just close to the Red Guard. The Musketeer- Athos, that was his name- swung a sword sloppily to turn the pistol away from him. As he did this, Sybil could see the hammer of the gun being pulled back, and she lunged forward, knocking the man in front of her into the Red Guard. There was the sound of a gunshot and she moved as fast as she could.

Athos was shot, but it was his shoulder and he should be fine…

She yanked him from his bench, grabbed his effects and ran, dragging him out and into the rain. She pulled him into an alley and tugged at his jacket to look at the wound against Athos’ protestations.

“Who d’you think you are?! Unhand me!” he growled.

“Shut up,” she snapped. It looked like a graze, but she couldn’t tell in such poor light as this, “We have to get you back to the barracks.”

Athos squinted at her with bleary eyes, “Lady Sybilla?”

She looked levely at him, “Can you walk?”

“If your ladyship asks I can run,” he replied with a mouth that sounded full of marbles.

“Good. Then we must run,” she hauled him along trying not to roll her eyes at the ridiculous affectation in his words, “Who knows how long we have before they come looking with a mob. What did you say to him anyway?”

“Who?” Athos asked, his eyes straining to focus on her.

“The Red Guardling back there.”

“Who?” Athos asked.

“Jesus….” Sybil murmured, “Give me patience… The man that shot you.”

“I told him that he was a man without honor and I bet him that he could fit all of his pretended talent on the head of a pin.”

Sybil rolled her eyes and wondered how drunk the youth had been to fire a gun at something so stupid as that. She wondered at the concept of honor to men in this time and how they killed each other to prove they had it.

The barracks gate loomed ahead and Athos called out to be admitted. The gates opened hesitantly.

“Where would your collegues be at this hour?” she asked, trying to haul him up the stairs that he seemed to be guiding her to.

Athos gestured vaguely to a door around the building. It seemed like a communal hall of some sort. She stood in the doorway, Athos’ arm around her shoulder trying to ease him in through the door. Porthos and Aramis were sitting with a younger dark man who was not dressed in the uniform of the musketeers.

“I think I found something of yours,” Sybil said, dropping Athos in a chair, “He’s been grazed by a bullet. Do any of your have medical experience?” She took her wide brimmed hat off, wiping her forearm across her brow.

Aramis was up and helping Athos out of his jacket, studying the wound.

“Who are you?” the dark young man asked.

“You call me Sybil,” she smiled, sniffing the cup abandoned by Aramis, “Do you mind?” she asked, taking a sip before he could answer.

“What are you doing here?” Porthos asked, clearly more confused than anything else, as if he wasn’t sure she was there. She suspected the lot of them had been drinking, but weren’t drunk, judging by the empty bottle on the floor and the half empty one on the table.

“I thought I should bring him home before he got himself shot, or bled out in the gutter,” Sybil asked her.

“You know her?” the young man, D'Artagnan, asked.

“She’s companion to the queen. Head of her Household,” Aramis said.

“That’s a wild rumor, and untrue,” Sybil took another drink, “I prefer men.”

Porthos gave her a look that made it clear that didn’t answer his question and neither he nor his companions would be distracted by her specific brand of humor.

“I don’t like being locked up like a pretty little parakeet,” Sybil said, “I’m rather used to doing as I please.”

There was a call from outside, and Sybil leapt up to look out through the window as a squad of Red Guards were pushing through the gate.

“Shit,” Sybil mumbled.

“What?” Aramis asked, looking up from his finished stiches. She tossed Athos’ jacket to Aramis. Aramis laid the jacket around Athos’ shoulders.

Sybil threw her jacket off and unfastened the buttons of her trousers. She yanked a handful of material from under the trousers and pulled a dark skirt from under them. She walked quickly back to the table, refastening her trousers under her skirt and sat on Porthos’ lap, smoothing out her skirt, “Do you trust me?”

“No,” he said, watching her.

She laughed, a little too loud, “You are so funny, my dear!”

The door opened as the Red Guard pushed into the room. Sybil looked up at them with surprise. “What’s this about?” she asked as if she was embarrassed to have been caught in this position.

“Madame Pseuthios,” The guard bowed, “We are here to arrest Athos of the King’s Musketeers.”

“Whatever for?” she tilted her chin up at them, “You have a warrant then?”

The man whose face could use moisturizing balked as if confused by the question.

“No?” Sybil asked, pressing closer against Porthos, “Then you should probably go.”

“The musketeer Athos-“

“Has been here with us all night,” she cocked her head.

Athos’ head popped up off of the table, and he blurted a drunken song out, taking another swig from a bottle.

“As you can see. We’ve been playing cards and drinking,” she toyed with a lock of Porthos’ hair, “Do you mean to contradict me?”

“Of course not madame, but-“

“But what?” she stood as regally as she could, “I thought the French possessed a more liberal ideology as regards personal relationships.”

The Guard bowed his head, and she knew the Cardinal would hear about this. She wondered if he kept files on everyone at court. That could be dealt with later, or denied. She hadn’t planned for this. “You may go now,” she smiled, “thank you for your diligence, gentlemen. I’ll pass on my regards to your master.”

They bowed with reticence and left, slamming the door behind them. Sybil leapt up and hurried to the window, looking out from the side so no one could see her from the outside. Long moments passed and she walked back to the table where the men sat watching her. She lifted a candle from the table, and placed it in the window and moved her hand in a pattern, blocking the light outside.

“What are you doing?” D’Artangnan asked, watching her as they all did.

“Trying to get a ride out,” she brought the candle back, “Sorry,” she said to Porthos.

“Am I needed further?” Athos asked, slurring his words.

“No, that will be all, sir. Thank you for helping,” Sybil asked.

Athos pulled himself up slowly, “I’m going to retire.”

Aramis frowned, folding his stitch kit back up in its leather wallet.

Sybil paced slowly, trying to plan her next move. She had missed her contact. Porthos was watching her with almost a smile on his lips. He clearly found this amusing in some form.

“Wasn’t so terrible after all?” she asked, teasing. She picked up the cup she had drank from earlier and poured another drink for her self, and refilled his cup as well. She slumped down in her seat, “Now the question is how to work my way out of this one…”

Porthos looked at her, a hard glint in his eyes, “I’m certain you won’t want your reputation sullied.”

She looked across at him startled, “It isn’t that. Frankly I could care less, but it will make my job harder if I’m watched by the Cardinal’s men.”

Aramis cleared his throat, “If you would pardon us, it is rather late.” He jerked his head at D’Artagnan, leaving the pair alone.

“Your friends are terribly conspicuous,” she teased.

He chuckled, self-consciously, “Yeah well… It’s been an odd night apparently.”

Sybil nodded, “I am really sorry for causing any discomfort. I just figured it was better to get Athos out of there.”

“You don’t know him,” Porthos pointed out, “you don’t owe him anything. Why did you do it?”

“Honestly? I trust you lot more than the Cardinal’s men. They just seem…. Too dedicated to their jobs, y’know?”

“Does the Queen know her first lady is out in the slums of Paris at night?”

“She’s figured it out. I’ve never done well in cages,” Sybil took another drink.

“Well Athos won’t say it, but I’m sure he appreciates the help,” Porthos smiled, twisting the cup in his hand, around and around in circles.

“I would hope to have yours as well,” she smiled.

He started.

“Too forward?” she asked, “good to know.”

There was a knock at the door and a dark skinned girl walked in, pushing past a musketeer.

“Ah,” Sybil smiled, standing, “May I present my associate Mademoiselle Nadia.”

Porthos stood as she did, and bowed his head minutely at the woman.

Nadia, bowed her head before turning to Sybil, “The guards left one of their men at the door. They’re going to be following you now, and your proposed lover as well, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Nadia looked at Porthos appraisingly, “Ati ales bine, cel puțin,” she said, changing to Romanian.

Sybil smirked, “Mulțumesc.”

“How will you be leaving?” Porthos asked, nervously.

“So eager to be rid of me already?” Sybil asked pouting, “I’m hurt.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“I know, she smiled, fumbling with the waist of her trousers, “I do need to get out of here. It wouldn’t do to be found in the barracks of the musketeers in the morning.” She wore the black trousers that had been under the skirt, which she tossed to Nadia.

Nadia pulled Sybil’s skirt over her own and tossed her the leather jacket from where Sybil had thrown it. Sybil pulled the jacket on, and picked up Porthos’ hat, “You won’t mind if I borrow this would you?” she pinned the braid of her hair over her head in a crown.

Porthos hesitated, “You aren’t just out drinking, are you?”

Sybil’s face lit up in a grin, “You’ll come by tomorrow and get your hat back, won’t you?” She stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek before hurrying off, a hand at Nadia’s back. Porthos watched confused from the window as Nadia took Sybil’s arm and walked along side her as if they were courting. He watched until they were out of sight. He wondered what it was that Sybil was doing and with who’s authority.


	5. The Queen's Letters

Chapter 5

The court was full of people milling through the gardens and Sybil wondered what they did all day. She sat on a bench under an oak tree rereading the letter. She was certain it had been read before it reached her hands. The wax seal had been set well, but not perfectly. It would have raised attention anyway, for Lady Sybil Pseuthios to receive a letter from the Duke of Buckingham.

 _Oh George_ , Sybil thought. He had been smart, but only sometimes. He shouldn’t have kept those letters, but then they had all been so young then.

At least he had the sense to code the letter so that it read as nothing more than a letter from an old friend. She pressed her fingers to it and could see the copper sheet they had used for coding. There were holes cut out that would line up with the words in his message.

“Queen’s… letters… moved... not taken……. Must protect… the secret…. Visit… imminent.”

It was surprising that he already knew she was staying with Anne. Sybil wondered how recent these letters were. Had she been writing him even now?

“Good morning,” said a warm, deep voice.

Sybil looked up with a smile, “Hello, monsieur,” she held his hat out to him, “Well I’m glad certainly glad to see you.”

“I’m always glad to make a lady happy,” Porthos said bowing.

She laughed, “You’re very proper, sir,” she folded the letter and slid it into the pocket of her jacket. She stood, lowering the black veil back over her face, “I’m surprised you found me so quickly.”

“You do stand out from the crowd,” he said, smiling.

“Do I?” she stood, watching him. There was something about him that drew her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Of course,” his smile broadened, “I think you’re the only young woman in the whole of the court who wears exclusively black.”

“And here I was hoping my radiant beauty drew the eye,” she said sardonically, pacing along.

Porthos followed, falling in step beside her, his hat tucked under his arm, “Well your beauty does help, but honestly I think you make it rather unfair for the rest of the ladies in court.”

“I’m certain they’re already seething with impotent rage.”

“Oh no doubt,” he mused, "though perhaps if you were to take that veil off, the others would know that they should be envious."

She smiled, patting his arm, “I think I rather like you, if I were permitted to know you better. Am I being too forward again?”

“You are what you are. Though if I may speak candidly, I find your forwardness confusing. Ladies rarely say what they mean, in court life, I mean. It’s all smiles behind fans and pretending to be one thing or another.”

“I’ve found that coy deceptions aren’t my strong suit. I’ve never been good at that sort of game,” Sybil turned in a circle, spinning on the toe of her mule. “Do you know many court ladies then, that you’ve done a study of us.”

“Honestly no, most would not speak to me, or really any of the King’s men.”

“I’ve heard otherwise, at least as far as your friend Aramis is concerned,” she smiled.

Porthos was fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Meanwhile you’re considered standoffish and rude, and some of the ladies think that you're little more than a brute,” she said, “I don’t know where that idea comes from though, if anything you seem shy.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard that,” he laughed, looking down.

“Is it just me then?” she peered up at his face.

“You’re…” he paused, as if trying to think of the right words, “different.”

Sybil gagged at the word, “Oh don’t, please. If you tell me I’m different from other girls I’m marching off and… I don’t know what I’ll do, but you’re smarter than that I know.”

Porthos’ laugh was a deep roll of thunder, “No, I mean you’re different than how you present yourself.”

She hesitated, “What do you mean by that, monsieur, you hardly know me.”

“Just as well as you know me," he smiled, "You dress as a lady and yet, you go out of your way to seem casual and as if we are acquainted, as if you want to see what I will do if I’m uncomfortable. That or you want to skip over the awkward beginnings of friendship and go right to the end.”

She blushed, “Am I so easy to read?”

Porthos shrugged, “I’ve been giving it a fair amount of thought,” he admitted. He had a very direct gaze, but it was warm. Sybil got the impression that he was really listening. When he looked at her, his eyes stayed on her. It was, however well meant still unnerving.

“So you think about me then?”

“I should hope I would be allowed the honor,” he bowed.

“I think I should be the honored party. I’m sure you have plenty of other ladies to think of.”

“Not as many as you might think, as you will of course recall, Madame. Most are deterred by certain… attributes.”

Sybil stopped, “You mean because you’re black?” she saw his face harden and she stopped, “Sorry, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean… I forget sometimes that people are prejudiced. Though, where I’m from things aren’t any better. I’m talking too much.”

He shrugged, “perhaps.”

“People are cruel. Also stupid. I wish there was something I could do to make the world a fairer place.”

“You are the queen’s companion,” he pointed out.

Sybil laughed, "and you think the Queen has power here? She has no heir, and no status. The king mocks her to her face and behind her back to anyone that will hear him-“ she stopped short, “I didn’t say any of that by the by.”

“None of that is exactly a secret,” Porthos allowed, “You’ve known her a long time?”

She stopped and looked up at him, “We were children together. I was fourteen, she was twelve when we first met, so children might be not exactly right…” she was rambling. Why? Sure sometimes we was nervous around new people if she didn’t have a mission. Missions made things easier. She could play people. That was easy. But here with this handsome soldier, she couldn’t think of anything to say that sounded right. She nervously straightened a seam on her gloves. She looked down at her hands as she fidgeted. What was he looking for, "Pardon me, if I seem... There's quite a bit of anxiety around here isn't there?"

“Have you tried relaxing?” Porthos asked, “I’ve heard it can be quite nice.”

“Smart ass,” she snapped back.

He laughed, “Stop trying so hard. It must be exhausting.”

“Do you ever get tired of being right?” she smiled up at him. She looked at him close. There was no one around, but he was just… lovely. His dark eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter.

“Lady Sybil!” called an older French woman that looked perpetually annoyed by everything, named the Countess La Voy, “Her Majesty would like to see you.”

“I’ll be right along, Countess,” Sybil smiled until the woman left them. Sybil’s closed eyes rolled, “I have to go.”

He took her hand and bowing forward kissed her knuckle, “I should hope to see you again soon, madame.”

She curtsied, “I’m certain you will.”

She felt his eyes on her as she walked. Looking back he was smiling. She didn’t know why he should smile as if she were vowed to him or something, nor did she know why it made her heart speed up or her breath catch. She wanted to win him over, but she really didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he would be a challenge if she tried, but she found herself incapable somehow. It didn’t feel right. And more than that he seemed to see through her.

She needed a contact within the musketeers and this would be the easiest way to do it, but she’d found herself thinking about the warmth of his hand on her waist and the smell of his skin. Maybe she was just lonely. She’d been by herself for months while she was at the debriefing center after her last mission. It was like she hadn’t been touched in ages.

These weren’t appropriate thoughts. She should be reviewing what she was going to tell the Queen, how to handle this entire stupid situation.

The Countess left them at Anne’s polite smile and thanks. The young Queen poured Sybil a cup of jasmine tea, the newest thing.

“The Countess said she found you with the Musketeer Porthos,” Anne said, sipping her tea daintily, “I thought you were only teasing when you said you would flirt with him.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I find myself completely out of practice.”

Anne laughed, a soft quiet laugh, before straightening and glancing at the door, then back at Sybil who smiled grimly and nodded.

“I have the letter from our friend in England,” she passed the letter to Anne with the materialized guide for the code.

Anne looked quickly over the coded letter, a frown furrowing her brow.

“When was the last letter sent?” Sybil asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Guess. This is important.”

“A few months?”

Sybil let out a groan and leaned back in her chair, “Ana…”

“Don’t,” Anne said quickly, “You know what it is to be lonely. And George…”

“Is George,” she allowed, “He’s handsome, charming and seemingly madly in love with you.”

Anne shifted uncomfortably, “You will help won’t you?”

“Of course, but I need to know what else you’ve sent him. Does he have any tokens of affection from you? Anything? Jewelry? A handkerchief?”

She hesitated.

“Tell me. If I don’t know I can’t help you.”

“I gave him two diamond studs and he said he would wear them forever. Louis gave me a set of 12 some time ago. I rarely wear them, but…”

“What?”

“Louis has asked that I wear them for the ball to be held for the reception of Buckingham.”

“Then someone knows and you’re being set up…” Sybil said.

“George wouldn’t-“

“We don’t know that, but with your… lack of approval you have to see that you’ve made a grave error.”

“Are you going to help me or just lecture me?” Anne asked coldly.

“If you are right, and Buckingham will have your two studs with him. When is this visit?”

“Friday next.”

“I’ll do what I can, alright? Burn any letters you have from him.”

“I have done already,” Anne said, annoyed.

“Do you have any tokens of his? Anything that he might have been painted with or that anyone would recognize?” Sybil said, trying to soften her tone.

“Nothing that would be recognized,” Anne said, twisting the sapphire ring on her left pinkie.

“That’s good then,” Sybil said, “we have to be careful until we can get you with child.”

“You sound as if I am a prized cow,” Anne said.

Sybil grimaced, “I really am sorry. I wish it wasn’t like this. If you were able to birth a son, you would have actual power here.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Anne bit her lip, “Don’t you think I know what people say about me? Louis is looking for any reason to throw me aside.”

“I’m sorry Ana,” she reached over and touched the girl’s hand. She really was just a girl. She’d been married too young, and with the heightened rate of inbreeding in the royal lines, there was such a high chance she wouldn’t be able to conceive with her husband, the DNA tests Evelyn had ordered had proved it. They were going to have to find a new answer after all. But first they would have to solve the question of Buckingham.


	6. Recruiting Assistance

Sybil grinned over Evelyn’s shoulder, across the tavern at Porthos. The dear man had come in, seen her look of distress and had started over, clearing thinking that she might need rescue from the abyss of irritable boredom that had been clear in her eyes and likely thought she had been cornered by an unwanted caller. Evelyn’s short-cropped copper hair could easily confuse him. He had only seen Evelyn once, in the disguising garb of a lady’s maid. He wouldn’t know her if he saw her now.

Sybil’s eyes begged him to stay off and promised to join him later on. She had seen more of him lately and at his urging to relax and be herself she had found that perhaps he would like her without pretense, if only she could figure out who it was she was.

“So she gave him a gift from her husband?” Evelyn asked, interrupting Sybil’s thought, wanton as they were.

“You’ll have to try to get to England before he departs for France. She needs to be above reproach.”

“Is there something else that you aren’t telling me?”

Sybil hesitated, “She told me that she gave him two, but I went to the vault to look in on the studs, but the set was gone entirely. There are two possibilities, either someone stole them, or she lied.”

“We should have a false set created just in case,” Evelyn said.

“Of course, that was why I went to look at the studs, in the first place but without them or any sort of pictoral representation of them, we can’t replicate. I have some diamonds that can be used, but we need detail. Best case, Buckingham has all twelve, worst case he has two. Two we can work with.”

“If he’s intercepted, do you think he will help?” Evelyn said, “He had feelings for her, but that was so long ago.”

“He wrote ahead to alert us to that someone had been in his office looking through the letters, so he clearly wants to help. Do you know who the Cardinal’s agent would be here? The diamonds themselves might not be so bad, but the letters…”

“Milday de Winter,” Evelyn said, “The question is, if she’s handed over any information from the letters to the Cardinal yet, we need to be destroy any record if she has. Does the Queen have anything in Buckingham’s hand?”

“No, so you handle the diamonds and leave the letters to me. I’ll do what I can to get into the Cardinal’s archives, but I fear it won’t be fun,” Sybil hesitated, “You might want to take someone with you…” She looked over her shoulder at Porthos where he sat with Aramis and D’Artagnan, “I have an idea.”

“I am not taking that puppy with me,” Evelyn said, looking at the young man with the others.

“How’d you know I meant him?”

“He’s not a full musketeer yet,” Evelyn reasoned, “He’d be the only one not missed, and I doubt very much you want me to take the Giant.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sybil asked, a heat flushing her face, “What giant?”

Evelyn raised a brow at Sybil in a way that seemed to indict her for her infatuation, “Do not make me say it out loud.”

“Ok, so-“ Sybil started.

“Too late,” Evelyn cut her off, and began with a sigh that would be beleaguered if Evelyn would allow herself to become beleaguered, “I don’t care what you do so long as you maintain your cover, and manage to do your job without the distraction of whatever it is you want.”

“When was the last time that I failed?” Sybil asked.

Sybil watched the young man, “There’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on… he’s someone…. Or he will be.”

“Everyone is someone,” Evelyn said, she gave Sybil a dismissive look then glanced over at the men, “I will take him, if he will come, but I want it understood that he is an investment. If he slows me down I will leave him.”

“Of course.”

“I leave on the morning tide,” Evelyn rose, pulling her cloak over her shoulders. Sybil stood with her and bowed.

The door closed behind Evelyn and Sybil walked over to the table where the three sat, a tankard in her hand, the three of them rose, as if they had forgotten that she was not a high ranking lady of the court here, “I sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but if I could borrow D’Artagnan for a moment?”

Porthos and Aramis looked at D’Artagnan who looked back at her, confused.

“Of course, Madame,” the young gascon answered, standing slowly. The musketeers regarded her with a slow baleful reluctance.

“It’s nothing so very formal,” Sybil explained, her voice taking on more of a formal tone. She left her tankard on the table with his friends and she went with him outside. As she went her fingers packed a thin wooden pipe. She lit the pip with a flint and tinder.

He was eying her suspiciously.

“You don’t trust me do you?” she asked, a cloud of blue smoke pouring through her lips.

“I daresay you can not blame me that,” he replied.

“No, I suppose not…” she looked away, “You don’t know me well and I have done a great many suspicious things. But I’m afraid I’ll have to do one more, and I’ll need your help.”

“Help? In what?” his eyes searched hers for any sign of joke, or trap.

“I need you to go to England with my Lady’s Maid, Evelyn on a… let’s call it an errand. I would ask Porthos for help, but as an enlisted Musketeer, there are a few reasons I can’t involve him.”

“But you would involve me?” D’artagnan asked, “what an honor.”

“You would have the Queen’s thanks for your work and discretion,” Sybilla went on, with a curt nod, “I can’t tell you much about what you would be doing. Do you accept this almost certainly awful and potentially very awkward mission?”

“Awful boring or awful dangerous?”

“I really can’t be sure,” Sybil admitted.

He was silent a long moment, “It isn’t as if I have anything else to do.”

She laughed, “Pack up a bag and meet her at the docks at sunrise by the ship called the Neptune.”

“How long will we be gone?”

“A few days, maybe a week.”

“I’ll go, but I need to know more than that. What business has the Queen in England?” D’Artagnan asked.

“What would you imagine?” Sybil asked, “I’m curious.”

“Does she want an army to subvert the King’s power and turn us over to her brother the King of Spain?” D’Artagnan asked.

“You don’t really believe that paltry propaganda, do you?” Sybil asked, “Though I suppose that is far more exciting than your actual mission. Would you go on along with such a plan?”

“I am French, madam,” D’Artagnan snarled, “I have little love of the Spanish.”

Sybil laughed, taking another drag on her pipe, “Then it’s good that isn’t what’s happening. Someone is trying to slander the Queen, I hope that’s enough, because I’ve already told you more than I should.”

D’Artagnan looked as though he were chewing over the thought.

“The Queen is my friend, and a good woman. I ask for your help, as I would for any of my friends.”

“Then why aren’t you going to England?”

Sybil smirked, “you’re smart. And I would guess ambitious. Someday you will need someone to push forward your commission to the Musketeers.”

“And you’ll do that?”

“I’ll certainly do my best,” she said, “I won’t give up until you have your commission. I give my word. Do I have yours?” She extended her free hand to him.

He paused and shook her hand with his own, “Is that enough business for one day?”

She smirked, and turned over her pipe, tapping out the burnt tobacco, “Come, I’ll buy you a drink,” she slid her hand to the crook of his arm, guiding him along. The boy let himself be followed but he didn’t look for a moment like he trusted her.

Back inside, Sybil frowned at the conflict that seemed to have followed her departure growing intensely.

Nadia leaned across the table, a sharp finger pointed at the gentleman sitting across the table from her, “You can not seriously believe that there is no inherent bias against the poor people of this city.”

“By no means is that his point!” Aramis snapped back at her, “But there must be accountability for one’s own actions or society crumbles. If a man breaks the law, his reasoning behind his infraction is but a small part of what may be larger implications for humanity at large.”

Elophia scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “Observe and be contented for the man that would arrest our husbands and sons is simply a philosopher.”

“And how on earth can a man that comes from the same lowly and squalid place as we face that legal oppression and say nothing?” Nadia jabbed a finger at Porthos.

Sybil rolled her eyes and sat by Porthos, “I leave for five minutes and already you lot are at each other’s throats?”

Nadia raised a brow at Sybil, her long face in a shadow of rage, “I have had enough of men telling me what is in my best interest, and not listening to me. I am tired of being less than human because of where I am from.”

Sybil took a deep breath, shooting Porthos a quick sideways look, then back to the young women where they seethed. “Do you gentlemen concede that there are injustices and that there are aspects of your jobs that you dislike?”

There was a quiet grumbling, and some shifting in their seats as if feeling that they were betraying something in their responsibility to the crown and their duty to the law, but there was a general sense of agreement.

“Fine,” Sybil said, “And do you ladies admit that sometimes people do bad things?”

Nadia and Elophia narrowed their eyes in union at her as if she was the greatest traitor to the female cause.

“Or not…” Sybil nodded slowly.

The two opposing sides glared down their argumentative natures, and Sybil could feel the awkwardness seeping from them until Aramis rose, bowed and left, cuing his companions to follow.

“We’re going to Rodrigo’s,” Nadia said, getting up and pulling her sister along behind her, “You coming?”

“Later,” she got up, “You both want to help me? Calm down and stop trying to start trouble when I am trying to recruit allies.”

“So we should be more worried about the feelings of those men than we are about our own?” Nadia demanded, pressing close to Sybil.

“Sometimes, yes. I’m going to need at least one of those musketeers pliable,” Sybil said in a quiet voice, “If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. I can make my own way. I appreciate your help thus far,” she held her hand out to Nadia, who hesitated, “or you can listen to me, when I tell you that not everyone has to be your enemy.”

“But-“

“I know, but we can actually make things better if you listen to me.”

“I don’t understand this plan,” Elophia said, frustrated.

“I know,” Sybil said, “Run along. I’ll see you later.”

Sybil took her tankard from the table and went over to Porthos, looking down at her feet, “Sorry about that.”

He picked up a newly filled tankard, “Yeah?”

“They’re just…”

“Bitter?” he asked.

Sybil hesitated, wincing a little, “They’ve had a rough go at things.”

“Yeah,” he took a swig of ale, “welcome to real life, m’lady.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sybil asked, trying not to smile.

“Look, I know you mean well, but you have no idea how normal people live, do you?”

“I have a vague idea.”

“Have you ever lived in a slum?”

Sybil thought about her childhood in that dank cold Brooklyn tenement, and replied in a quiet tone, “My life hasn’t been as easy as you might assume.”

“Yeah, that palace life must be rough,” he said, and she knew he really didn’t mean to be hurtful. He looked up and stopped short seeing her face fall.

“I should be going then,” Sybil said, “I really didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

He caught her arm as she turned away, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

She looked over her shoulder and took a small glass bottle from her bag and held it out to him, “Olive branch?”

He took the bottle and sniffed at the bottle, and smiled, taking a drink.

“Swiped it from the Cardinal’s guards,” she admitted.

He laughed, coughing as the whiskey went down the wrong pipe. He studied her, “Who are you?”

She shrugged, taking a drink, “No one.”

He leaned back against the bar, watching her, “We’ve been trying to figure it out. Sneaking out is one thing, but… What did you want to see D’Artagnan about?”

“I’m sorry to say I don’t know you well enough to tell you,” she looked away, innocently.

He reached over and pushed her hair back out of her eyes, “What ever it is…” he didn’t finish the sentence, “I’ve never seen a lady with freckles.”

Sybil blushed, “Most just powder over their inperfections.”

“Do you?”

“Of course,” she laughed, “Everyone does, even if they aren’t ladies.”

He nodded, looking over his shoulder, “Suppose you’re right.”

“Want to go somewhere?” Sybil asked.

Porthos looked taken aback.

“What? Am I too forward? I thought the French were more liberated,” she laughed, going to sit at an empty table.

“Somehow I doubt you have changed much since coming to Paris,” following her.

“What does that mean?” she stared him down.

“Nothing, just you seem to be…”

“What?”

His mouth opened then closed anxiously.

“I seem to be a tramp,” Sybil stated.

“No, that’s not it,” Porthos backtracked, nervously.

She looked up at him, “Then what?”

“How did your husband die?”

“Why do you ask?”

He looked over her shoulder, scanning the room.

“What do they say?” she asked.

“I don’t-“

“Please. People talk. What do they say about me?” she leaned her chin in her hands, “I love gossip.”

His face flushed, “Well… there’s rumor, that well… your husband…”

“I killed him?”

Porthos balked. He didn’t know what to say to that. It was the sort of vicious rumors that always started around women on their own. There was a need to classify women into categories.

“Do you think I did it?” She was grinning up at him.

“I feel like that is a trap disguised as a question.”

She laughed, “I like you.”

“Yeah? You’d fool me.”

“Really? I thought I lacked subtly,” she laughed, “That’s what Evelyn is always saying.”

“That’s your lady’s maid?”

“Yes. She’s been with me for… longer than she should have actually,” she took another drink from the flask, “Oh, I completely lost track of time!”

“Are you due somewhere?”

“Yes, actually. There’s a part in the Court, and I completely forgot,” she dropped a couple coins on the table.

“The Court?”

“Of Miracles,” she said, putting the bottle in her purse.

“You’re going into the Court of Miracles alone in the middle of the night?” he asked, aghast.

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Because, you’re a-“

“A woman, yes, I know.”

“The Court is rather dangerous…”

She laughed, “I’ll be fine. I promise, I’ll only get up to safe trouble.”

Porthos pursed his lips at her, “Are you trying to abscond with me?”

“I never would think of such a thing!” Sybil said, resting a hand against her breast.

“You’re trying to get me to say that a lady shouldn’t be walking around at night alone and follow after you to escort you.”

“What a wonderful idea!” she said as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her, “Well, if you want to come along, I don’t see any trouble in it.”

He laughed, rubbing a hand against his forehead, “Par dieu.”

“Well?” she pulled her cloak on, “Coming?”

He looked away, thinking, “I should stop at the barracks. I shouldn’t be wearing my uniform if we’re going to the court.”

She grinned, “Wonderful! Let’s go!”


	7. Deeds Done

Porthos ran as fast as he could while pulling Sybil along behind him by the hand. Her laughter echoed through the alley, “Hush you’re going to get us caught!” he scolded, slowing down to duck into a doorway.

“We wouldn’t have to run if you were better at cheating,” Sybil laughed pressing a hand over her mouth, “I mean you’d think you would be better at it.”

“If that fellow hadn’t cheated, I would have been much better at it,” Porthos said, “I mean, two Kings of Hearts in one deck is rather suspictious.”

“And, I’m sure you’re used to being the only one,” she leaned her head back against the doorframe.

“Oh, aren’t you just charming,” he laughed, peering out into the alley.

“Not yet,” she said.

“What?”

She pulled him out of sight, and shifted the mirror in her hand slowly, watching the men spreading across the street, looking into the alley and up as if they had climbed up a building.

“Clever,” he mumbled quietly, taking her hand gently.

She kept her eyes on the mirror, “You like my hand?”

He hummed an affirmative, holding it up in front of his face. There was something about her hand. The idea formed in the distance through the fog of alcohol and he couldn’t quite see it.

“Well I won’t complain if you like any part of me,” she teased him.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked her leaning forward.

“Nothing I can think of,” she pushed the mirror into her pocket, “Though I’m certain you’ll think of something, won’t you?”

“What d’you mean by that?” he asked, looking at her, bleary eyed.

“Well I get the sense you have the keenest of eyes for flaws.”

“Typically…” he turned her hand over in his, “But there’s something…” his face lit up, “My god!”

She shoved her hand over his mouth, “Shush!” She closed her eyes and listened as carefully as she could, for the coast to clear.

He muttered something against her hand, but she couldn’t understand him, and she kept listening. Porthos smiled against her callused hand, and wanted to laugh suddenly at the realization. No highborn lady would have rough hands, and the realization relaxed him. He wasn’t in danger of whatever he had been worried about being in danger of. He had thought that she was some palace brat looking to enhance her life with rough trade.

He looked at her for the first time without the glamorous veil of unobtainable wealth, and he saw the faint premature wrinkles of constant worry, hidden by the smeared kohl around her eyes. He reached an arm around her waist and felt the pistol tucked into the back of her skirt.

“Are you getting some sort of idea about the sort of woman I am?” she whispered, closer to him, “Because I am only of the highest virtue, I assure you.”

“Uh huh,” he leaned his forearm over her head.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m curious,” he smiled, “How does a street rat end up as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen of France.”

She looked shocked a moment before laughing, “Whatever gave me away?”

He hand her hand gently, opening it, “You have the loveliest working hands I have ever seen on a woman.”

“Well keep it to yourself if you wouldn’t mind terribly,” she grinned up at him, “It’ll cause more trouble for the Queen than for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I’m found out, I won’t have to worry about it long, since I’m sure Louis would be kind enough to take my pretty head right off without a bother, but Anne…” she started slowly out into the alley.

“What is it you do for her majesty, exactly?” He took her hand into the crook of his arm.

“I told you, it’s all secret.”

“I feel like I know you well enough by now,” he said, smiling, “and you’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”

She rolled her eyes, “The king has you lot, and the Queen has no one. That hardly seems fair to me.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled down at her, “Wish you would have just told me all this from the start.”

“And you’d tell me about every secret thing you have to do?” she asked, planting her fist on her hip, “I haven’t heard a word out of you about anything you do for the king at all.”

“Well you haven’t asked.”

“Nor would I.”

“No?”

“No, it’s a professional courtesy.”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t send one of our friends off to England?” he asked.

“That little twerp,” she laughed, “And I thought he was discreet.”

“Oh D’Artagnan is very discreet. He only told Athos, Aramis, and myself, and maybe his landlord’s wife.”

“Oh, lovely,” Sybil mumbled.

“Yes, she is.”

“Who? Oh,” she laughed, “What’s her name?”

“Constance. You would probably like her.”

She slowed, “and here I thought you only had eyes for Aramis.”

Porthos laughed, shaking his head, “You ought to be careful with that wit of yours. Some people at Court might not find it as charming as we low gutter folk.”

“Do you really have such a low opinion of us all?”

“Of course not, but they do.”

Sybil mulled on that, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. They’re all awfully full of themselves, how d’you bear it?”

“Very carefully,” He admitted, “Though I think it’s going to be harder now that I know you’re not like them. Every time we’re in the same room I’m going to have to stop myself from looking at you.”

“Flatterer,” They took a turn out along the Seine, “Though I would have thought perhaps you would already been doing that.”

“You know what I mean,” he smiled.

He walked her back to the Louvre, stopping short, “I don’t know that I should walk you all the way back.”

“Why?”

“You think you should be seen with…”

She stopped short in front of him, “What?”

“If you’re playing a lady…”

She looked away, “Right…”

“I don’t mean to be rude. I just think that perhaps our…” his brow furrowed, “we’re really only the sort of thing that takes place after dark.”

She reached up nervously and touched his cheek, “Well it’s not as though anyone would think that I would be doing anything that every lady at court hasn’t at least thought of.”

His face darkened, “I’m not a prop.”

“I know. I didn’t mean it to sound that way, I was joking,” she stammered, “But maybe you’re right. We’ve been drinking and it’s been a long night. I don’t want to make you feel put out or anything.”

Porthos didn’t say anything, and stared at his feet,

“Jeez louise, I’ve never felt quite so stupid,” Sybil touched his hand a moment, before backing away, “Well good night.”

She started walking as quickly as she could without running. It was a stupid idea. No the idea was good, she just didn’t know how to execute it, and she hadn’t needed to get Porthos involved. She should have been better at quietly nudging pieces into place.

She heard someone running and she turned, reaching under her cloak for the gun until she realized it was Porthos, “I’m sorry if I upset you, I really didn’t mean to-“ he pressed close to her and kissed her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders.

In her room she felt like he had a life wire pressed into her spine, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling him closer into her arms.

0x0x0

Porthos traced the lines of the tattoo sleeve on her arm gently with the tips of his fingers, looking at her lying next to him on her stomach, with a smile slowly creeping over his face.

“What?” Sybil asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, stroking her cheek. Sybil rolled closer to him, into his arms.

“You are a very good man,” she whispered close to him.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” she studied the planes of his face in the dim light, as her eyes adjusted. “I know you are an honorable man, and that you’re loyal to your friends, and that they’re your family.”

“Is that how they train you agents?” he laughed, “Vague compliments?”

“Ehn,” she shrugged, “People typically fall into broad identifications. It’s the bits and pieces that you have to work out.”

“So you know my broad strokes?”

“Yes, just looking at the finer details now,” she stroked her fingertips over his cheekbone.

There was a gentle knock at the door, pulling Sybil’s attention away. She wrapped a black robe around her naked body and, picking up a knife out of the bedside table. She crossed to her door, holding the knife out of sight behind her, and opened the door.

Athos stood there with Aramis close behind him. They took their hats off.

“Gentlemen,” she smiled, “I assume you’re here for your compatriot.”

Athos smiled, “If you would be so kind.”

“One moment.”

She closed the door, and went back to Porthos. He was dressing in the moonlit bedroom. She leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, “Your friends are here to collect you.”

“I heard,” he said.

“They’re good,” she said, “Very good.”

He stared for the door, pausing by her, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If you want to,” she grinned.

He leaned down and kissed her, stroking her cheek again, and he was gone.

0x0x0

“Is it true that there’s some unwritten rule that the ladies of your household are meant to give your husband’s musketeers a wide berth?” Sybil asked the queen, working over her needlepoint. She wasn’t very good at the fine detailing, and she always ended up using more thread than she should.

“I’m afraid it’s rather a written one,” Anne glanced up at her, “Why?”

“I simply hope that your grace will accept my ignorance of such a rule if it were broken.”

Anne gave her an exasperated look, “You didn’t.”

“I’ve never been one for social rules,” Sybil explained, not looking up. That flower didn’t look right at all. It was supposed to be a zinnia but it was twisted wrong, and looked like a child’s scribbling.

“Tell me then that you were at least discreet. No one saw… what’s his name… Porthos?”

“Far as I know the only people privy to it would be his friends. They came to collect him. Apparently there was something that needed his attention.”

Anne’s pale head shook, “And you know the entire barracks will be whispering that you’re an easy lay.”

“I should not think to speak out of turn, but I would not be the first lady of this court that might have taken one of these gentlemen as a lover.”

Anne’s lips pursed, “It isn’t decent.”

“Do you want your diamonds back or not?” Sybil’s gaze was direct when she finally looked up at Anne, “You know I love you more dearly than a sister, but I don’t think you should be giving me a lesson on discretion.”

Anne’s face turned red, “I know. Do you think you’ll be entertaining him again, then?”

“Who can say? But I do hope so,” she admitted with a quick smile, “I rather like him.”

“There are plenty of noblemen I can introduce you to that I’m sure you could learn to like just as well.”

“Are you trying to marry me off already?” Sybil asked, “I’ve not even come out of mourning.”

“Exactly,” Anne said, “If someone were to find out about this, I would have to exile you from Court, and all of polite society.”

“Then they aren’t very polite are they?” Sybil smirked at her own joke.

“That is a tired line,” Anne took a deep breath, “And on top of that, I don’t see how this would help my situation in the least.”

“I’ve borrowed one of Porthos’ young acquaintances and sent him off with my lady’s maid, Evelyn. They’ve gone to England to meet with Buckingham. I was going to ask him originally, but the musketeers are all under such close watch at the moment.”

“And you taking Porthos fro your bedmate has anything to do with this?”

“Call it an audition,” Sybil explained, “The young gentleman in question, D’Artagnan has been spending quite a bit of time with your husband’s men. He’s damn near apprenticing for them. He will in all likelihood be counted among their number soon enough. The three, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos are loyal to the crown, and seem to hold you in high regard. It’s a good idea to have allies.”

“Allies? You speak as if a war is coming for us.”

“You said yourself that your place here was uncertain. I know it may not be what you have in mind, but allies of any sort are useful.”

Anne nodded slowly, “I suppose you’re right.”

“You won’t turn your nose up at them then?”

“No, of course not,” Anne looked offended, “They have saved my life before.”

“Of course, pardon me, I had forgotten that the musketeer Aramis had put himself in the way of bullets for you,” Sybil was watching as Anne looked back to her stitching, a light rose coloring speckling over her cheeks.

0x0x0

The sea was rough crossing the channel to England, and Evelyn stayed below deck as much as possible, in spite of the cloudy sky. The young D’Artagnan on the other hand seemed to thrive in the environment of seaborne adventure, almost to the point of agitation. And it took just under a week to get to England and back to Paris. Evelyn had prepared for every form of trap and obstacle, but besides the sea, there was little trouble.

The most frustrating part from D’Artagnan point of view was that the lady in his company was not amiable in any way that he could see, and in spite of being a lady’s maid spoke down to him with an air of superiority that churned his stomach. He was honestly relieved to be put in charge of ensuring that the diamonds were made to match the missing set.

The second most frustrating part was his being sworn to secrecy. Having come back from the adventure and leaving his effects in his room at the Bonacieux house, he went to the barracks to inform his friends of his return.

“Ah, the prodigal apprentice returns,” Aramis called, teasingly, cleaning his pistol at the small, benched table in the middle of the yard.

D’Artagnan groaned, plopping down, his head falling against his forearms.

“You look like you’ve had a rough time,” Porthos asked, “Where have you been?”

“I had some business in England,” D’Artagnan admitted.

“What sort of business?” Porthos asked.

“Let the boy have his secrets,” Aramis chided.

“How d’you know it’s a secret?”

“If it wasn’t he would have told us when he was leaving, rather than just leaving.”

“Did you miss me then?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Oh, terribly. You’ve missed such fun,” Aramis smiled, “Porthos is quite besotted of late.”

“Oh shut it,” Porthos pushed Aramis’ shoulder.

“What, the Queen’s girl?” D’Artagnan asked, smirking.

“Sybilla,” Porthos corrected him.

“She knows why I was in England, so ask her,” D’Artagnan mumbled, ripping into a loaf of bread that sat waiting on the tabletop.

0x0x0

Sybil bowed her head as she passed the dark blue velvet pillow under Anne’s gaze for her approval, “I’ve polished the diamond studs for your majesty.”

“Thank you,” Anne said, remembering the ladies in her salon. She glanced sidelong at the pastel women stitching away, “The king will be greatly pleased.”

Sybil curtsied and took the diamonds into Anne’s dressing room. She smiled, adjusting one so that they were all laid perfectly. They were well made. There was no way one would be able to tell that they weren’t all made of the same set. Evelyn had done well on her own, but she hadn’t seemed pleased about it.

There was the reception tonight and Sybil would have to find a way to look well enough. She looked over her maudlin reflection a moment before noticing Anne in the glass.

“You have a dress for tonight?”

“Black satin,” Sybil smiled, “It’s very finely made. I finished it last night.”

“I’d forgotten Evelyn was gone,” Anne said, embarrassed.

“Even if she weren’t I would have ended up finishing it. She’s not one for stitching.”

“And what do you have for jewels?”

Sybil didn’t answer.

Anne smiled, and went to her jewelry box, taking an elaborate diamond necklace from the box, holding it up to Sybil’s neck, “I think this will do nicely, and these,” she held out two diamond drop earrings.

“Your majesty-“

“Ana,” Anne smiles, “I hope to always be Ana to you. I owe you everything I have.”

“I’ll return them as soon as the sun rises.”

“No need. I would have you do me one last thing,” Anne said, smiling, “The young man that assisted us, I would like to thank him.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Ana smiled, she held a diamond ring out in her hand, “Give this to him.”

“That I will do,” she smiled at Anne’s reflection as she took the ring.


End file.
